


For just one night

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, Drama, Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:50:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair get a last chance to talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For just one night

## For just one night

by DannyD Ulalume

Author's website:  <http://www.dextersworld.de>

death story. 

* * *

Warning: ** _DEATH STORY!_ ** AU, h/c, smarm, episode related "Sentinel Too, part 1". Don't read it if this type of story isn't your cup of tea; if it moves you we'd be thrilled to hear about it. In this universe part 2 of the episode did NOT take place. We are at the fountain again, Blair's heart stopped beating and... read on. 

Summary: Jim and Blair get a last chance to talk. 

Disclaimers: The Sentinel and its characters belong to Paramount. Pet Fly created them, and this little story is purely intended to bring tears to the readers' eyes ;-). 

Authors' notes: This story is already years old, part of it anyway. Ulalume has done most of the work and I'm just jumping on to finish it because it's just too terribly sad to let this one waste away unfinished. <g>

For Just One Night   
By Ulalume & DannyD 

I'm alone in the loft. Alone in the empty loft. Reluctantly, Simon has let me leave his sight to come home to...nothing. And no one. 

I hang my jacket and walk into the empty space to stand Sentinel within the bare, blank walls. And I feel the emptiness grow inside me, the big black hole slowly squeezes the air out of my lungs, takes away the space where my heart is and finally gropes for my soul. 

I can't believe he's gone. It never should have ended like this. I shouldn't have let it. There are so many things I could have done to stop this from happening. There are so many words I should never have told him. And now I won't ever have the chance to make things right again. I might as well have been crushed in that warehouse, because I can't bear the guilt of knowing I had a hand in his death. His death. 

Blair is dead. 

The sob builds in my throat and I let it leave my mouth in a grunt of pain. My stinging eyes overflow for the first time, spilling warm tracks down my face. I slip to my knees, feeling the hardness of the floor beneath me, so unlike the grass I knelt on today as I tried to breathe the life back into him. 

Oh, God, help me, he's gone. 

"Chief...what have I done?" The words come out half-choked. My shoulders heave, my breath catches, but for my own anguish, the silence around me is deafening. He's not here and never will be again. 

That's when I hear it. A whine. The high-pitched, pitiful sound of an animal. Instinctively, I turn toward the noise. It's coming from the other side of the door, from the hallway. 

I flash back to when I'd heard the sound of a growling feline and pulled the door open, gun drawn on ...Blair. I was reacting to her, to her scent on him. But the whine. It doesn't belong to a jaguar. It sounds like the miserable whine of the wolf I shot in the jungle. In front of me the mental image of the wounded canine torments me again, struck down by the lethal arrow I aimed at him. On the ground the animal's feature morph into the soft forms of Blair. Motionless. Cold. Dead. 

I killed the wolf. My vision should've led the way, but instead I was too blind to see the truth. As I killed the wolf, I cut the thread of life Blair held onto. 

My Guide is dead because of me. 

Now I hear a scratching sound, and then another whine, more desperate. 

Imploring. 

I'm on my feet and at the door before I can think. I throw it open, banging the wooden door against the brick wall. And he . . . he's standing there, wet and disheveled, wearing the same clothes, the same jacket that he had on when we pulled him out of the fountain this morning. 

Blair's standing there. 

He smiles and speaks a little hesitantly, "Hey, Jim, can I come in, man?" "Chief? My God, Sandburg!?!" I reach for him and, grabbing hold of his arm, pull him through the door. "You...you're..." 

Blair looks down at the floor. "I'm trailing water, I know," he admits. His eyes raise back to mine. "Sorry. I'm sure it's pretty nasty too. They hardly ever wash out that fountain. I mean they put chlorine in it and all, but-" Blair's babbling. 

How's that possible? I stare at him, confused and interrupt. "Sandburg, what?...I don't...you're alive." 

He shakes his head. "I'm not, Jim. I just came back to talk to you. We have to talk about this." 

When did he say something like that before? In the bullpen. It was our last conversation. A conversation which should've never taken place like that. And I told him I didn't trust him. I pushed him away. Words spoken in anger and fear. My eyes fill again, but I blink rapidly, not wanting his form to waiver in my sight. Oh God, let Blair fill my eyes forever. 

"Jim, shh, it's okay," he comforts, leaning toward me. 

And suddenly, I'm enfolding him in my arms, pulling him against my chest. A harsh, loud sound of pain leaves my mouth as his arms come around me, returning the embrace. He's speaking. I feel his lips moving though the fabric of my shirt, but I can't process what he's saying. I'm holding onto the lifeline his solid form provides. His wet hair sticks to the skin of my cheek. His strong hands smooth a trail up and down my back. 

Before I know it, I'm speaking the same words over and over, as I gently rock us from side to side. "I'm sorry, Chief. I'm so sorry." 

He moves with me, still murmuring against my chest. The slow intimate dance of loss lasts but a few minutes in the span of a lifetime. Intimate. We'd talked about that word before just recently, when I'd blown up at him about the dissertation. I was angry at him for talking to Carolyn behind my back. 

I was wrong then too. My anger was misplaced. And in truth, I've never been more intimate with anyone as I have with Blair. He was right. It isn't about sex. It's about fear of attachment. Fear. All my responses have been fear driven. If we could have worked on that, if I would have let him help me...he might not be dead. 

It's about friendship. He's taught me that lesson before but I've never really got it. And, yes, it was about love, too. 

But how can he be dead if I'm holding him in my arms right now? 

That very thought stops my movement and I clutch him even tighter, as though he's about to disappear. In response, he speaks, but this time I understand his words. "Could you loosen up just a little? I've already taken a beating from the chest pounding." 

I let out a little breath of a laugh. He's trying to make this as easy for me as he can. I carefully step back from him, though I keep hold of his shoulders. "I don't want to hurt you," I say, looking into the blue eyes I never thought I'd see again. "I don't want to hurt you ever again." My voice reduces to a whisper, "I've never wanted to hurt you." 

His smile is sad, and his voice soft when he replies, "I know." 

Now, I'm looking at him, drinking him in with my eyes. I know that my pupils have grown huge, as though they can, with their heightened awareness, imprint his form on my mind. I can see the thin sheen of water on his face and make out each strand of his hair, tangled as it is. 

"Jim," he calls, hands under my elbows. "Come on back. I'm not going anywhere. Not now at least." 

His words register and my sight becomes more normal. But he said 'not now', that means he will leave. My chest feels tight. "Don't leave me, Sandburg. I don't think I can handle that again." 

"We have tonight. I can stay with you tonight, but that's all. I have to go back. I don't belong here anymore," he explains. And though the words aren't meant to hurt, I feel them like white-hot barbs. I was the one who told him to leave. I threw him out of the loft and practically pushed him into Alex's waiting claws. I am the reason he's dead. 

"We should have faced her together, Chief. If I hadn't pushed you away..." I take a deep breath, prepared to state the truth, but a shake of his head halts my next words. 

"Not like this, Jim. Take it easy. Not like this." For the first time, I notice the fine tremors running through his body. "You're cold," I announce. 

He shrugs. "I'm okay." Of course, he's not okay. He's dead. I can't believe he's dead and still standing right in front of me. I wonder if I'm losing my mind. If I am, I'd gladly let it go. 

I nod toward the stairs behind us. "My clothes are still upstairs. Let's get you into something dry, huh?" 

"Dry and oversized," he says, smiling. "I can dig that." 

I release his shoulders, almost wincing at the loss of contact. That's when my hand finds his, and as I make for the stairs, I gently tug him along with me. 

"Uh, Jim, you can let go. You know that, right?" he asks, while we ascend. Once we reach the top, I turn and answer him. "If I let go, I'm afraid you might disappear." 

Ever so gently, he tugs his hand out of mine and lifts both in a gesture reminiscent of surrender. "Look, Ma, no hands," he quips. Then he turns serious again when I don't laugh. "I'm still here, Jim. I can stay until the sun comes up. I promise I won't leave until then. I've been given this time. We've been given this time. I won't walk out a minute before I have to, okay?" 

"Okay," I reply. I fumble through the dresser I'd left upstairs and pull out some sweatpants, a T-shirt, and some socks. Wool socks. Blair always complaints about cold feet so he'll need the warm socks. 'Don't want you to catch a cold,' I think irrationally. Cold. Dead. When I look back at him, he's still standing there. I hand him the clothes. Then, I turn to the closet and dig out a sleeping bag. "We can sit on this downstairs. I can make a fire, warm the place up. There are towels in the bathroom. I'll get a couple so you can dry off." 

"Thanks," he says, heading down the stairs in front of me. I duck into the bathroom with the bag tucked under one arm. In seconds, I'm out and standing with him in the living area. We both have our hands full. 

I drop the sleeping bag on the floor, and he places the clothes beside it. The towels follow in a neat pile. Together we roll out the large bag. "Kinda like camping, huh?" he says. 

"Yeah," I reply. We have so much to say to each other, but I really relish this exchange. It feels so...normal. 

He strips out of his wet clothes and dries himself as I get the fire going. It's spring, but here in Cascade, it never warms up that much. The bareness of the loft has amplified the cold. The fire is just what we need. As I tend the growing flames, I hear him shifting behind me. I'm still afraid he won't be there when I turn around. But when I finally do, he is. 

Sandburg is sitting on the sleeping bag, tugging on the large shirt. Almost immediately, he picks up the second towel and starts drying his hair. I hear his muffled voice. "These tangles are gonna suck." 

I chuckle, but almost immediately my eyes start to tear again. I only have him with me for just one night. How many nights had I taken his presence for granted? How many times had I searched the loft for the comfort of his heartbeat, found it, and let the sound lull me to sleep? I reach for it now and find ... 

"Your heart, Chief, you're heart isn't beating." 

He drops the towel and sweeps the hair back from his face. "I'm not alive, Jim." 

'I'm not alive, Jim'. Why doesn't it sound as harsh as 'I'm dead, Jim'. Not alive. Maybe there was still hope? Some Shaman mysterium, something to bring him back... not alive. Oh God, Blair... 

I move so that I'm sitting, facing him on the sleeping bag. My voice becomes more unstable as I speak again. "Simon, when we pulled you out of the fountain, he asked if I could hear a heartbeat. I couldn't. When I tried and I couldn't, Sandburg, the world stopped for me." 

"I was there, Jim. I saw everything," he explains softly. "I was there when the EMTs said they were sorry. I was there when you broke away from everyone holding back so you could kneel beside me, so you could hold me. I know, Jim, I know that you lo-" 

"Hey, no, shh," I interrupt, lifting a hand to silence him. "Let me say it. You've come all this way. The least you can do is let me say it." 

He quiets. I can see the tears standing in his own eyes. If he can't have a heartbeat, at least he can cry. I speak the words that were never more true for me. "I love you, Blair." 

Sandburg smiles. "I love you, too, Jim." It seems infinitely easy for him to say those words. And he showed me every day of our life together the truth behind them. I was just too blind to see. He made sacrifices for me. It wasn't just about the dissertation. He'd said so himself. He'd called me his friend more times than I remember referring to him that way. 

"Chief, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I said things to you that are inexcusable. You should hate me. You're dead because of me. Alex killed you, but it was because I let her. If I'd kept you with me, you wouldn't have died." 

"You don't know that, Jim." 

"But I believe it." 

Blair takes a deep breath. "And I believe you did everything in your power to save me, man. This is fate. Even when it was over, you didn't want to stop trying. They had to pry me out of your arms. You zoned. Simon had to practically beat you up to get you to respond to him. I was scared for you. I still am. I just hope that this will help you go on. You have to go on." 

"How can I? How can I without you?" 

"Don't you dare throw away everything we've worked for, Ellison." His voice is soft, but threatening. "You know who you are. You know what you have to do." 

"I don't-I can't-" 

"You are a Sentinel. This city is your tribe. Alex is still out there somewhere with those canisters. She's a threat. You can't let your grief get in the way. We can work through that. Here and now." He uses his hands to emphasis his point. "You can say everything you need to say, everything you want to say. Most people don't get that chance, man. This is closure for you and for me too. You have to wake up tomorrow and be who you were meant to be." 

"I don't know if I can do that, Chief," I admit. 

"You have to, Jim." 

"There won't be anyone..." I let my voice trail as I try to find the words. "I won't have anyone who will understand, who will guide me and help me use these senses. You were my control." 

"There are other people who can help you. Simon..." 

"Isn't you, Blair," I interrupt sternly. "YOU are my guide, Chief, my focus, part of myself, my...heart." I shake my head. "Simon's just...," Searching for an appropriate word, I eventually shrug helplessly. "...Simon." 

He touches my arm, soothing my agitation. Looking down into his large eyes I see the depths of my own soul. Before he opens his mouth to speak, I know he'll ... 

...convince me like always? Yeah, just Sandburg-style. 

"Jim, we can't intervene with destiny. The day when we were born, our departure from this life was already set. You're the Sentinel of the Great City, destined to meet me two years ago." He smiles disarmingly. "Of course, 'Dr. McCoy' made an appearance back then but... it was all already meant to happen that way. Just like today was my day to die. No matter what, no matter if you'd been with me when Alex came to my office, or if you'd locked me up in a cell, I would've died today." 

"No." I'm refusing to believe that. He's dead because I failed to protect him, because I kicked him out of the loft, because... 

"Damnit, Jim!" Blair bursts out suddenly. "Stop this darn guilt trip! You can't change the course of life, you can't alter what's been planned by a power beyond all things, you can't change the past. All you can do now is to BE what you are." 

"You mean an hard-edged, stubborn asshole?" I nod, my mind struggling to understand and accept what I've just heard. 

The grin Blair gives me is contagious. "Yeah, something like that, tough guy," he replies. "Plus and minus a few things, but it's all in the allowed range of tolerance." 

We both chuckle. Sighing I reach out for his hand. Our fingers lace and for a moment I stare down at the web we've woven. "Selfish," I murmur. "What do you mean?" 

I don't meet his eyes when I trace the pattern of the sleeping bag we're still sitting on. "I'm hard-edged, stubborn and selfish," I say, shaking my head slightly. "I'm sitting here, grieving for...for... the loss and you...you're dead." 

Another tear rolls out of the corner of my eye. 

"Try human, man," Blair answers. "Don't give up your right to be sad, to scream and to grieve when you feel like it. Nobody expects you to jump back to your own self tomorrow." 

Tomorrow. When he's gone for good. I shudder at the thought .  
"Thanks, Chief," I mumbled and my vision is again obscured by a curtain of tears. 

With the usual animation, he raises his eyebrows and deep in his throat a "you're welcome" erupts. 

Dawn is near. As is the end - and the beginning. 

I realize with dread that my sentinel sight is compensating less. Dim predawn light has begun to fill the loft. It's almost time to say our final goodbye. 

"Did you know that Native Americans don't have a word for 'goodbye'?" my friend whispers beside me, as if reading my dreadful thoughts. 

Unable to speak, I shrug. 

"We'll see each other again," he reassures and slowly shifts his position to kneel on the sleeping bag. 

I swallow. "Yeah." 

An early bird chirps cheerfully, greeting the new day with its newlycomposed song. Exclusively, and only meant for these few minutes before the night dies and the initial rays of sunshine give birth to the new day. Blinking through the balcony doors, the first hesitant spots of light enter the loft. 

"It's time," Blair sighs and he starts to get up. 

"Wait!" I shout, panicking and taking his arm to stop his motion. 

"What...where are you going? I mean...how....?" Unable to finish the sentence my eyes meet his. 

"I don't know," my partner confesses. "Last...," I can see the lump building in his throat at the memory. "...last time I was already...you know...," He smiles apologetically. "I didn't feel anything." Gently he pries my hand away from his arm. "I'd better go. This isn't something you should see twice, 'kay?" 

A wide smile crosses my face despite the unbearable pain stabbing through my heart. "No," I state simply, tenderly grabbing his arm again and drawing him close to my body. 

"No?" Puzzlement is evident on his face, but he gives in to my touch. 

"You shouldn't be alone," I try to explain, my voice cracking. "Nobody should have to be alone in such a moment." 

The hug is fierce, almost bone-crushing. I bury my face in his neck, the damp curls tickling my cheeks. Again, I can feel his hands embracing my waist and clutching the back of my shirt in a strong grip. I tremble. And just then I realize my body shakes with the tremors ravaging his. 

"I'm scared," he speaks against my chest, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating through my body. 

"I know. Me too," I whisper into his ear, stroking the mass of hair. "But I'm here." 

Pulling back a little, he looks up at me, tears mingling with the smile he flashes me. "Thanks." In a feather-light touch our lips meet, a gentle brush over soft tissues. Merging into a kiss, the salty taste of tears seal our friendship, our love and the immortal bond between us. It's then when Blair gasps. His eyes are wide with fear and his knees buckle. I catch him as he slowly collapses, loosening the grip on my shirt. 

"Chief...," I croak, supporting his dying form and carefully lowering him to the ground. 

On the sleeping bag, Blair rolls on his side and curls himself into a ball as if in pain. "Chief...," I repeat watching helplessly. I stroke his face, feeling the cold seeping through the light touch of my fingers into my own body. Wise blue eyes glance up at me one last time, sparkling with mischief and tears. "See ya..." 

Crooning meaningless words, I moan as Blair's body morphs into the weakening body of the wolf. "Shhhh, it's okay," I murmur stroking the animal's head. "Take it easy...", The wolf whines and opens its muzzle slightly to lick my fingers. Not knowing whether Blair can still feel or hear me, I bend down to whisper into the wolf's ears. 

"I believe you, my friend." 

A final shudder curses through the wolf and in front of my eyes the animal disappears. My hands falls back to the hard ground. I'm kneeling between wet towels and a disarranged sleeping bag. Behind me the fireplace crackles, filling the loft with a warm melody. As I turn around to the balcony doors, the blinding morning sun sends a sharp pain through my head. Blinking away the sting, I shake my head, rubbing my eyes. 

The words of an old Shaman rang through the loft, echoing from the bare walls. "A Sentinel will always be a Sentinel as long as he chooses to." And the words of a very young, energetic Shaman join them, "So make that choice, damnit!" 

The End. 

* * *

End For just one night by DannyD Ulalume: danny@dextersworld.de

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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